Skip to content

why does it always rain on me?

Sonnet XVII
Pablo Neruda

I do not love you as if you were the salt-rose, or
topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

sigh. this is how i envisioned love. this is what i believed i had. but i was proven wrong. again.

how many blows can one take before she falls to the ground, bled dry?

white knight might have been right after all when he said

"why does it always rain on me?" Hydro_phobia



Post a Comment

Your email is never published nor shared. Required fields are marked *
*
*